Free Sword of the Raven by Diana Duncan

started. She watched Zack intently. How could he possibly not have heard?
    “How about if I take you home instead?” Zack asked quietly.
    “Did you…” She swallowed hard. “Happen to…hear anyone say something just now?”
    His puzzled glanced roamed the parking lot. “Like who, my Ferrari?”
    “Never mind. Why are you taking me home instead of back to jail?”
    “Don’t worry about it. I’ll ensure the weapons charge is dropped—as long as you agree to permanently shelve your investigation. Deal?”
    “Do I have a choice? Under duress, but okay.” Just another lie added to her roster of sins. She didn’t owe Detective Walker anything. Her limbs wobblier than Jell-O, she ignored his outstretched hand and crawled into the back of the Ferrari under her own steam. Curled on the midget seats, eyes closed, she gave into the agony pealing inside her skull,
    That last goodbye with her brother had felt too eerily final. He’d bequeathed her all his worldly goods.
    Every muscle cramped in rebellion. I will not cry.
    Let me in, Delaney, Rowan urged, pushing against her bruised brain.
    No! She blunted his painful mental thrust with dwindling strength.
    Stop resisting, and I’ll turn your pain to pleasure.
    She bit back a groan. Stay. Away. From me. Blocking out Rowan MacLachlan—or the illusion of him—was getting harder. And hurt worse with each strained effort.
    Eventually, the car cruised to a stop. Zack’s door opened, slammed shut. Moments later, her door snicked open, and cool, damp air drifted over her. “Delaney, you’re home.”
    She sat up and winced. The pulsing behind her eyes made black spots dance in her vision. Hopefully, Archer could make some sense out of all the insanity.
    Again rebuffing Zack’s outstretched hand—she’d fall flat on her face in the street before accepting his help—she staggered to the curb in front of the centuries old five-story brick building. The entire bottom level encompassed Archer’s club, Starry Night. The building was rumored to be sitting atop one of the gateways to Portland’s infamous, supposedly haunted Shanghai Tunnels that catacombed beneath the city. Archer was slowly renovating the top floors into club storage and apartments.
    “Delaney…” Zack licked his lower lip, and something that looked very much like regret softened his features as he reached for her. “I’m not the bad guy, here. Why can’t we be—”
    “Only about ten months too late, and fifty grand in attorney’s fees short, Detective Walker.” She stumbled back another step. “If the next word out of your mouth is ‘friends,’ I will not be responsible for your dental bills.”
    The heavy smoked-glass double doors exploded outward, and Archer stalked outside, long legs covered by his customary bad-ass motorcycle leathers, flawless café au lait shoulders bare beneath a white tank top. She’d never seen the man wear a coat, in any weather. “Hey, Del—”
    He checked mid-stride, swiveling from side to side. His nostrils flared…a predator scenting prey.
    Zack’s hand snaked inside his jacket and his gaze tracked the horizon. “You spot something?”
    All the fine hairs on Delaney’s body tingled as she slowly turned to stare across the street. Indistinct and hazy, Rowan stood enveloped in a cloud of vapor. Watching her.
    She tried to speak, to point, but her reflexes refused to cooperate.
    Rowan met her gaze, shook his head in warning. Be ready, lass. Tomorrow it begins. He vanished.
    Archer frowned. “Nah, it’s nothing. I’ve got Delaney from here.” His midnight velvet baritone soothed her raging headache somewhat. “Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out, Walker.”
    Zack scowled. “I’ll check on Connor, and be in touch, Lanie.” He opened the trunk and returned her purse, minus the confiscated gun, before ducking into the Ferrari and roaring off.
    “Archer…” Relief overwhelmed Delaney and her knees buckled.
    “Hey, my girl.” Lunging,